Grief
by XShay-SamaX
Summary: On a day completely ordinary in the happily married life of Kunimitsu Tezuka and Keigo Atobe, disaster strikes. (Ato/Tez Tez/Ato) !WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH!


**Pairing: Imperial Pair**

**Word Count: 1,483**

**Summary: On a day completely ordinary in the happily married life of Kunimitsu Tezuka and Keigo Atobe, disaster strikes.**

**Author's Notes: I'm certain that this fic will receive bad reviews from upset readers. Do not ask why I wrote this. I do love sad poetry, but I despise writing (and reading) sad stories. Or so I thought. Atobe Keigo is my favorite character so I am all the more uncertain why I did this. I would never read a fic someone else wrote where he died. Anyway, hope this doesn't create too many tears.**

* * *

_It had been one week._

Tezuka sat alone in the living room. Often, he sat on the right side on their couch, Atobe to his left. But today, he sat by himself on that familiar right side, staring into the cushion where Atobe usually sat; legs crossed, back straight, chin high. The image of the other man sitting beside him ghosted across his vision, Atobe's eyes fixed on Tezuka, drawling on through one of his usual stories about something that happened to him that day. In his head, he heard the other man laugh through a statement, flipping his hair and smiling brilliantly at his husband.

Tezuka was quiet most of the time when they sat here. Mainly, Atobe talked. Tezuka listened. Atobe and his voice always filled up the room. Now, the state of the room was eerily quiet.

The clock ticked on, second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour, and Tezuka stayed in his spot on the couch. The event seemed so unreal to him—he remained certain the door would swing open, Atobe and all his prestigious glory once more taking up the room with his presence.

Tezuka knew that would not happen. Atobe would never open that door again. Atobe would never sit down next to him and talk to him until one of the chefs announced dinner. His voice would never fill the silence of the room again.

* * *

December. Cold, dreary, plagued by chapped lips and icy roads.

"I'm leaving, Kunimitsu!" Atobe called, grabbing hold of his brief case and waiting for Tezuka to come kiss him goodbye.

Hearing his voice, Tezuka slowly walked over from where he was lying on the couch, drawing his husband in a hug before work.

"Stay warm. Make sure the cooks bring you lots of soup, alright? Won't have you catching the flu." Atobe doted.

Tezuka was only sick with a chill, nothing serious, but enough to keep him home from work and bundled up on either the couch or bed, trying to read a book to pass the time.

"I know how to take care of myself, Keigo." He insisted, eyes rolling.

"_I _know that _you_ know, but I still worry if I'm not home to take care of you." Atobe retorted, pecking Tezuka on the nose—would have have kissed his lips if he was not sick—absolutely could not have both of them missing work.

Tezuka sighed but smiled to Atobe. "I'll take care of myself if you do. Be careful out there, it's icy."

"We'll both take care. I'll see you when I get home~." Atobe agreed, waving goodbye as he stepped out the door.

* * *

Tezuka slept most of that day. It was not until he heard his cell phone ring from Atobe's number that he woke up. It was midday, about 5:00PM.

After a few questions from an investigator, the news came fast, like an avalanche onto an unsuspecting mountain climber. Tezuka's ears started to ring.

Thinking back, he only remembered a few words from the conversation.

"Car accident."

"Limousine."

"Truck."

"_Ice_."

**"Not breathing."**

* * *

In a horrified frenzy, his cold entirely forgotten, Tezuka practically jumped outside into one of their (many) cars.

Blood pounding in his ears, Tezuka arrived at the scene.

He saw everything.

Atobe's favorite white limo mangled with deep dents.

Atobe's body surrounded by a team of first responders.

Hijacked. That was the feeling in Tezuka's mind when he saw Atobe's body. No thoughts, no decision of the best course of action, Tezuka pushed through the crowd. His voice, of no conscious action of his own started calling Atobe's name. He demanded a chance to attempt CPR, as he long knew the protocol.

No matter how deep a breath Tezuka took, no matter how hard he pumped on the other man's chest. Nothing happened.

And though they tried over and over… nothing more could be done.

And Tezuka drove home.

And waited for the results of the autopsy.

* * *

Reflecting on it all, Tezuka realized not once had he cried. Not even while trying to save his husband's life.

But, he had not said a word.

Since the day, he did not go to work.

He did not sleep.

He did not eat with the exception of a few bowls of soup some of the maids insisted he have.

Before now, Tezuka simply did not really there could be a world without Atobe Keigo. Surreal. It was entirely surreal.

One night, Tezuka wrote in his journal. He wanted one statement to remember.

'_I feel as though there is no longer a Sun in the world. Even if I were to stare up into the sky at that bright yellow ball forever, my eyes would not burn. There is no sun. The entire world is shrouded in darkness.'_

That would be the feeling Tezuka carried with him through the days. Slowly, he got back to doing things normally. A week later, he talked to a friend. He went back to work. He ate properly. He slept.

He went on that way, through the motions of life as though everything was the same. The only difference, there was no emotion to anything Tezuka did. He ate, but the taste no matter how good or bad did not matter. He worked, but whatever problems in the workplace, he did not care. He slept, and was neither tired nor sleepless.

A month passed.

It was a Saturday, so Tezuka was going through their room, looking for anything to tidy up. (He did not let the maids take care of the belonging in their bedroom. Tezuka much preferred doing that on his own.)

While rummaging along, in the very back, a bright golden bag stuck out to him. Quickly, he retrieved it, never having seen it before. It looked like… a Christmas gift?

From Atobe.

Tezuka reached into the bag and found a neatly wrapped box. Being as careful as possible so he did not rip anything, Tezuka removed the paper. Inside the box was a digital picture frame. It held a montage of many of the photographs the two had taken over the years. Disneyland. Beaches. New York. Germany. The Eiffel Tower. Their own backyard last winter, making snow angels as if they were children again.

Tezuka stared blankly at the frame, eye straight but his body starting to shake.

A card.

There must have been a card.

Frantically looking back to the back, sure enough, there it was.

One of Atobe's custom designed Christmas Cards. In this one, two figures were depicted on the cover, holding hands while walking in the snow. Tezuka knew who they were supposed to be.

Limbs still shaking, he opened it up and read the message in Atobe's hand.

_I feel I say about the same thing to you every year. I love you, you mean the world to me, Merry Christmas. And I mean all of that from the bottom of my heart._

_But this year, I wanted it to be a bit different. I wanted the perfect thing for us to remember our life thus far together. I thought this picture frame would do just that._

_We've seen so much of the world and yet there is so much yet to see and do!_

_And there isn't a person on earth I would want to experience it all with other than you._

_Merry Christmas, Kunimitsu. _

_Love, Keigo._

That was Tezuka's breaking point. He held the card, teeth clenched and form tremoring. Tears spilled out on to the last words of his lover and Tezuka had to set the card down as to not ruin it.

Cycles of mournful sobbing continued many hours, until Tezuka finally had no more tears left in his body.

Lying on the ground now, he re-played the last few weeks in his head. Eyes closing, he recalling many of the memories from the picture frame's photos.

And he felt the same.

There was no one he would have rather gone through life with, experiencing all its joys and downfalls. He always knew that would be true, but he never expected that it would come to an end so soon.

Atobe Keigo was his Sun, his vibrant light source of happiness and a symbol of all the beauty life had to offer.

He was a red rose in the summer time, blossomed more fully and brighter than other on the bush.

But God had plucked that rose and left it to wither.

Strange enough, Tezuka could almost laugh now, truly aware now more than ever of what he lost, what his life would no longer have. Though the seasons moved on, through Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall… the same was untrue for Tezuka's heart. It was eternally winter inside him. No flowers. No light. No sun. Just an empty tundra of solitude.


End file.
